A dog barks, a distant yap.
Birds twitter and flit from tree top to roof top.
A seagull’s lazy cry pierces the low hum of traffic.
A siren’s soft whine quickens this adagio.
A soft flurry of muffled sounds.
Then all grows quiet once again.
Nothing here to make me think of you,
yet I do.
Late afternoon light. A fading, busy day that will
soon be followed by the stillness of night.
This day has seen dashing and rushing about.
It has overheard a misunderstood conversation and laughter.
Another scribbled square on the kitchen calendar
and on to the next.
Still no escaping thinking about you,
so I do.
Salty air on skin, fresh sting of sand blast wind.
Gusting gently, accompanying the sea’s soulful swell
almost keeping time in a syncopated rhythm.
Salted lips, tangy taste of coastal walks on tongue.
Four legged and two legged friends
leaving their prints behind.
Trying not to think about you,
but I do.
Smiles and cheerios. The end of an evening.
A final shared anecdote. A cigarette’s tendril joins
the musky scent of worn perfume and boozy breath.
A high heel stumbles slightly, is caught then embraced.
Taxi doors slam. Engines rev and tail lights glow red,
taking revellers home.
Still so many thoughts of you,
what do I do?
Trolleys skid and slide, hiding and seeking amongst the aisles.
A ballet of metallic baskets laden and heavy
bob, swing and shuffle occasionally halting, deliberating,
adding more to the mound that could avalanche at any moment.
A small child takes her mother’s hand.
A torrent of thoughts of you,
what can I do?
A fleeting shadow in a bright, cool corridor.
A ghostly breeze catches the curtain, the fabric flutters.
Footsteps echo, a few then dozens of young faces appear lively
with chatter, some carefree, some pensive, but each engrossed.
A memory that never was.
subconsciously searching for you,
I always do.
Murmuring from a church chair. Infant cradled in strong arms.
Soft touch, cheek to cheek, soothing whispers, cherishing sleeping child.
Now standing, swaying, hip out, silently sharing one space.
Comforting and reassuring each other. Mother and child.
A frozen cry in my throat.
Igniting so many thoughts of you,
this, I so often do.

I sense your eyes of judgement
bearing down on me.
I know you can’t understand it,
so naturally it’s hard for you to find empathy.
You haven’t been where I am
which makes me difficult to understand.
But rather than disappointed incomprehension,
I wish you’d reach out your hand.
But instead, you have unrealistic expectations.
One’s that I can never hope to meet.
As the chasm widens between us,
I battle a growing sense of defeat.
Two women world’s apart
at opposite ends of the spectrum.
Your ascent has brought you joy
whilst I’ve been sucked under by depression.
Unaware that it is the ‘black dog’
who has become the guardian of my cage’s key.
I pretend, trying to act ‘normal’
and not at my selfish gaoler’s mercy.
Alienated from those I love,
trapped in a cycle of misery,
shackled by my own self-loathing,
it’s from within these walls that I see.
I see you, seemingly proud and confident,
embracing the newest chapter of your life.
The Spring to my endless Winter,
flourishing, fertile, successful in your role as wife.
You are a celebration of womanhood,
a producer of grandparent’s heirs.
You’ve created and you’ve given light.
God has answered your secret prayers.
You are the success and I, the failure,
the mutant female, ashamed of whom I’ve become.
My body a barren betrayer,
unlike yours that has produced a golden son.
Yes, I sense your eyes of judgement
questioning my behaviour and response.
But I can’t do much about it.
My self-esteem, my inner strength are all but gone.
This atmosphere of expectation
is a heavy burden, I can’t fulfil.
I dread the knowledge that I will disappoint you
despite asserting great courage and strength of will.
I suppress my urge to shriek,
to grimace with grief and cry.
My fight or flight would like to run for it
without even pausing to explain why.
As best I can, I cover up this battle.
I remain suffocating slowly in this room.
I hide my physical and emotional shakes
and try not to sit here like a harbinger of doom.
I am sorry. I’m aware I may hurt you.
We co-exist in a growing cloud of tension.
I can see in your eyes of judgement
your invisible, yet tangible incomprehension.

Still no sign of a baby,
Still all barren and bare.
No bun in the oven.
No anything, anywhere.
Still empty and waiting.
Still counting the days.
Endless frustrating
Baby shower parties.
Still pretending not to notice
A billion mothers walk past.
Suppressing the ache
With a terrible, fake laugh.
Vitamins and potions,
Tablets galore,
Bonking my husband
Like a desperate whore.
Another month gone
And still full of grief
For the life that I wanted
But couldn't conceive.
Losing my faith
And along with it hope
That it'll ever happen.
It's a really sick joke.
A test of a marriage
For better or worse.
We never expected
The infertility curse.
The worry of age.
My biological clock.
Terrible thoughts of using
Another man's cock.
Losing my grip
On these whirling emotions.
Crying in Waitrose.
Causing commotions.
My femininity in question.
A redundant, duff womb.
An incomplete woman
An imposter, a loon!
Ignoring friend's babies
For fear that I'll crack.
If I held one a moment
I may not give it back.
Flippant remarks,
And unhelpful words.
Just no idea
Of this ongoing hurt.
"Don't think about it."
Said so ignorantly.
Years of my life
thrown right back at me.
A change of direction.
That's what's required
To boost my morale,
Be re-engaged, re-inspired.
An action packed life.
I'm managing things well.
Counting my blessings
When my friends speak of hell.
Of persistent insomnia
Of nights without sleep.
While for me, it's a bonus
A blessed relief.
I can lie in til 10
Or siesta at two
With no threat of tantrums
Drool, sick or poo!
I look on the bright side,
Am thankful for a lot.
I learn not to forget
To ‘enjoy what you've got’.
Then all of a sudden,
My chest starts to ache.
Another announcement
That’s all it takes.
Again all alone.
Trapped in this cycle
Of endurance and fatigue
It's physical and mental.
I want to hear mummy,
And a new baby's cry
To have my child with me
Not a week then goodbye.
I want to know motherhood
Present a child to my mum.
A way to say thank you
For the friend she's become.
Phone calls at midnight
A calm, listening ear
Plenty of hugs
To soothe the raw fear.
More prodding and poking,
Appointments and queues.
Undignified positions.
More time in loos.
More peeing on sticks,
More far Eastern cures,
More consultants and nurses
What more to endure?
The worry, the stress,
The fear and confusion.
Starting a family?
It's just pure delusion.

She married her true soul mate.The one she had been waiting for.The one for whom she had turned down the others who'd come before.As soon as she had met him,she knew he was the one.Despite initial reservations,to his charms she did succumb.'Be grateful for what you've got.'Weekends travelling to see him,to and fro on South West trains.Lunch in child-friendly restaurants,pushing the buggy through the rain.One of two other females,quite a challenging, complex game.Hoping, helping, supporting,though she found it a bit insane.'Be grateful for what you've got.'At the altar, on one conditionthat her dad had asked him to accept,'Don't make her wait for babies,treat her right and don't neglect to remember all she does to raise your child whom she protectsfrom harm, often to her detrimentwith no acknowledgment nor respect.''Be grateful for what you've got.'But, no babies came, month after monthfor the yo-yo, part-time mother.Though sadness and confusion grew,she kept on caring for another'schild who made the pain much worse,Often she needed to recoverfrom the consuming visits of the child she'd promised to love forever.'Be grateful for what you've got.'The mounting grief would swell then ebb,though she rarely complained of this feeling.No, she didn't speak of the emptinessleft by her step-daughter's abrupt leaving.The tension built as the couple tried for her own baby she dreamt of conceiving.But when nothing happened time and time againshe spent her nights silently grieving.'Be grateful for what you've got.'Not many knew of this inner strugglefor each day she reapplied her smile.Lipstick in place and hair done well,no cracks to betray her trial.She tackled life with positivity,stayed busy, worked hard and with style.But the secret stone in her solar plexuswas dragging her further into exile. 'Be grateful for what you've got.'Her marriage, by now heavy with struggle, burdened by guilt, grief and tensionhit a new and major crisis that rendered her bed bound with depression.She'd spent years fighting to stay strong,conquering fear and apprehension,but crippled by anxiety, now she laystaring at the ceiling of her bedroom.'Be grateful for what you've got.'Extreme exhaustion and panic attacksare not a pleasant sight.Frequent episodes could paralyse herboth day and through out the night.Uncontrollable tears, pains and body shakes made her ashamed and gave her such a frightthat she wondered if she'd finally lost her mind, but though it was close, she hadn't yet, not quite.
'Be grateful for what you've got.'Slowly, the pills she took began to help.The psychologist was essential too.Together they rebuilt their marriage, acknowledging all the tests they had been through.Step by step, she regained her strength,searching for fresh hope in something newthat could help her once again feel positive,not so sad, alone and blue.
'Be grateful for what you've got.'Now when asked how she is getting on,she speaks out more honestly.It’s healthy to share the truth with othersnot just a few friends and family.It takes courage to speak of personal struggles,through it we can gain such liberty.But just be prepared to forgive that most
infuriating phrase of complete stupidity,'Be grateful for what you've got.'

A wild crescendo of grief
ignites from deep within.Alarmed, I see no obvious shelterfrom this havoc and chaotic din.No longer the sure footed woman who painstakingly conquered this place, I wobble, panic and then topple over this sudden, unseen precipice.Now mid G force 8 of free fall,parachute unopened in it's pack,I'm hurtling towards the earth. Crikey, I'm going to hit it with a 'SMACK.'I search desperately for escape routes, not easy when panic and grief blur thought.I gasp for air, squeezed from my lungs, perhaps in a huge cargo net I'll be caught!I'm not sure how I came up with that, like a kid's cartoon on TV.Maybe I'll not manage to reach the end, or perhaps there is a way to save me.As I fall the cacophony grows louder,wind whistling in my ears.My shuddering sobs now accompanied by an overflowing river of tears.
I feel so utterly despondent.
My thoughts are not controlled nor are they straight.Except I know I don't want be pulverised,that would not at all be great!I cannot think my way out of this pickle. I must simply surrender to the test.All I have I give to itand I can only give my best.Now my sobs diminishand remarkably my descent begins to slow.I fumble with my parachute,pulling the release cord to let it go.
A jolt and then not quite so much terror above the hazy ground.I open up my swollen eyesto contemplate landing safe and sound.If only crash mats and landing specialists appeared at each attack of personal despair,it wouldn't be so hard to navigatea free fall through the air.This grief that's lodged inside meis the cause of all this anguishand to be quite frank, I'm fed up with it.I'm sick of feeling rubbish.I don't know how to get rid of it,to free myself from pain.It's a bloody noose around my neck,a bloody ball and chain!Sigh! At least I landed with dignity intact.My best roly poly with a flourish in years.And I suppose no real lasting damage done, except mild dehydration due to all those tears.